


Left Behind (Together)

by cinnamon_grump



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:43:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_grump/pseuds/cinnamon_grump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark is trapped with no way out, facing death on either side. Jack finds him, the first living human he's seen in far too long, and can't possibly leave him to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Behind (Together)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the name of a song on The Last of Us soundtrack (it's a beautiful soundtrack and I highly recommend listening to it while reading if you want to set the mood)

Mark groaned, clutching at his side as he tried to regulate his breathing. His shoulder was pressed against the doors to a decaying old barn as he stood rigid and unmoving, keeping the door closed with his body weight. A chorus of desperate, mindless thumps sounded through the wood. In a rush to find something to shut himself in, he snatched up piece of plywood leaning against the wall and slammed it down into the metal slots, creating what he hoped would be a secure lock.

He stood staring at the door, watching it move with each pounding of a fist against it’s surface, scant beams of light peeking through the cracks. Time passed slowly, dragging on, and the hoard outside only seemed to grow larger and more restless. Mark sunk to his knees and allowed himself to go limp.

“I’m gonna’ die…” he whispered to himself, cold and stoic. He sighed, allowing that statement to really sink in. Of course, it didn’t matter much at that point wether he lived or died. He had already lost everyone he cared about. He knew it was possible his group was still out there right now, making their escape. But it was just as likely they were already dead.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to fight his way through the horde of undead bastards knocking on the door, but he had no weapons. All he had was the pocketknife in his jeans, not nearly sturdy enough to get past over a dozen of those monsters. He slid back to lean against a support beam, tossing his head back to stare up into the rafters where cobwebs and long abandoned birds nests were scattered about. A defeated huff escaped past his lips, and he wondered what was the point in staying there at all.

 

////////////

 

Jack knelt at the top of the hill, brow furrowed, watching as a survivor attempted to outrun a large mob of undead assholes. They made it into a barn, seemingly unscathed, but it was clear there was no way out for them.

Jack stared at the old barn, contemplating wether or not the possibility of helping that stranger out of their self-made trap would be worth putting himself in the middle of a raging hoard. He scoffed at himself and rolled his eyes. Of course it would be worth it. Not like he had much to lose anyway. Worst case scenario, he gets bit while helping that poor shmuck escape.

He rushed back to his makeshift campsite, picked up his weapons, and without further hesitation he started down the hill, running full speed into the crowd of zombies with reckless abandon. He slashed at their heads, slammed them into each other, kicked them out of his way. One of the damn things came up behind him, clawing at his neck, and he turned to shoved it away, slamming the heavy handle of his machete against it’s skull with a loud crack. Jack had anticipated fighting them off to be a lot more difficult, but when he turned towards the barn he found there were only three remaining.

One staggered towards him and he buried his blade deep in it’s head. The other two were too busy scratching and banging at the doors to pay any mind to him, giving him time to work the machete free from the other’s skull. Jack took them out with little effort, kicking them away from the doors. He looked back at the mess of rotting bodies he left in his wake, sighing heavily. There was something really satisfying about taking out a hoard on his own, something that often outweighed the guilt of knowing those were once innocent humans. It didn’t matter what they had been back then, they had become monsters.

“Hey, are ya’ alright in there?” Jack called out, knocking gently. He heard a soft gasp from the other side of the doors, slow footsteps, then the sound of wood scraping against wood. He watched patiently as one door creaked open to reveal a disheveled man with wide brown eyes. The poor guy looked completely wrecked.

“Did you just… kill all of them on your own?” The guy asked, peering around at the mess of corpses on the ground. Jack shrugged, looking to the one closest to where he stood. It was still twitching. “One hell of an introduction,” he muttered. Jack raised a brow at the stranger, who smiled weakly and pulled the door open all the way to step past the threshold. “Thank you for saving my sorry ass.”

“No problem, dude.” Jack sheathed his weapons and held his hands out at his sides, “it’s just another day. Happens all the time.”

“You run around saving people every day?” He asked with a smirk. Jack huffed, slightly irritated by the man’s sudden shift from traumatized and awkward to cocky bastard.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. For all you know I could be a fuckin’ superhero.”

“Saying you are usually means you’re not.” Jack glared at him, a silent challenge. His face fell slightly, throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “I’m Mark,” he finally spoke up, “professional idiot.”

“I noticed,” Jack retorted, mocking Mark’s smirk from before. Unwilling to let him pick a fight over it, Jack hurried to introduce himself, thrusting out his empty hand in offer of a handshake. Mark took the offer somewhat hesitantly. The gesture was solid, strangely warm, like old friends meeting after months apart. Jack lingered a bit too long, lost in the strange feeling Mark’s touch created.

_It’s just been too long since I’ve had human contact…_ Jack thought, somewhat bitter about that fact. He had been completely alone for far too long. It felt strange to touch a body that wasn’t cold and dead. It was nice though.

“Where are you headed?” Jack asked, pulling his hand away and coughing lightly.

Mark’s face fell and he looked towards the forest, brows drawing together. “I don’t know… Lost my group.” He crossed his arms, shoulders bunching up, and turned his gaze down to the dead zombie at his feet. “These assholes chased me away, got us all separated. I don’t even know where to start looking for them.”

“I’d say your best bet is to follow the river until you find some sign of them.” Jack sighed, looking Mark up and down briefly. He was a mess, clearly exhausted, and unarmed to boot. He couldn’t just leave this guy out here on his own like that. Jack removed the hatchet from it’s place on his back and flipped it to offer Mark the handle, “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to…” Mark muttered, eyeing the weapon with slight apprehension. Jack rolled his eyes and pushed the handle into Mark’s hand.

“I insist. If I leave you out here on your own, chances are I’ll end up finding your body on the riverbank.”

Mark swallowed visibly, scanning Jack’s face for a long moment before he gripped the offered weapon and gently pulled it from Jack’s slack fingers. “Fine… thank you.”

 

////////////

 

The sun was slipping past the horizon, leaving the two men to face the creeping darkness and the dangers that it imposed upon them. Jack had a crank flashlight in his bag, but it wouldn’t help much either way if they couldn’t find shelter soon.They had been searching for hours, scouring the shore for any signs of human activity with no luck. They had stopped at a rocky outcrop so that Jack could crank the flashlight. Mark cringed at the sound it made, but Jack seemed entirely unconcerned about it.

“Don’t you think that might attract unwanted attention?” Mark asked, brows furrowed. He’d already narrowly escaped death once today, he didn’t need another run in with those undead freaks.

“Calm down. I’ve used this thing before, it’ll be fine. Sounds like crickets to them or somethin’, I don’t fuckin’ know.” He shrugged, cranking it a few more times before folding the little handle into the flashlight and shining it towards the ground to check that it was working properly. It didn’t even flicker, prompting him to aim a cheeky grin up at Mark.

“You are infuriating.” Mark mutters, nose wrinkling slightly. He jumps at the sound of a branch snapping behind him, turning to face the darkened forest with weapon raised. A tense moment passes before a large rabbit comes hopping out, freezing at the sight of the two men. Mark sighs in relief, shoulders slumping.

Jack used his shirt to wipe his machete clean, taking a couple cautious steps forward, and with one swift motion he sliced through the rabbit’s neck. Mark gasped and looked away, caught entirely off guard. Jack gagged as he picked the corpse off the ground by it’s hind legs, refusing to look at his own kill.

“You don’t look like the killing type,” Mark muttered, shielding his eyes. “That seemed a little unnecessary.”

“Well we need to eat,” Jack said, tone a little sharp. “I don’t like doing it but the way things are now there’s not much choice. Sure as fuck can’t just go to a McDonalds anymore.”

“Fair enough, but you could’ve warned me. That was disgusting.”

“How the fuck do you think I feel?” Jack asked, eyeing the dead rabbit with slight disgust. The skinning was always the part he dreaded most. He grunted at the thought of it, but remembered now he wasn’t alone. He met Mark’s eye and held their soon to be dinner out to him. “You wanna do the honors, _mister perfect?”_

“What?” Mark grimaced, taking a step back. “You’re kidding.”

Jack’s only response was a raised eyebrow and a piercing stare. After a long, tense moment, Mark relented, hesitantly taking the rabbit from Jack’s hand and groaning as he pulled out his pocket knife and got to work.

 

///////////////

 

The moon and Jack’s stupid flashlight were the only light sources anymore, leaving the two men wandering with hardly any visibility, searching aimlessly for some kind of shelter. Anything would do at this point, even just a fucking outhouse somewhere would be better than wandering in the open. Mark was nearly to the point of just calling it quits and looking for a rock to crawl under when Jack let out a sharp laugh and smacked his arm roughly.

“Look up there!” He said, and Mark shushed him before following where he was pointing. At the top of the steep hill before them sat a cabin. It looked to be mostly intact, if not untouched.   
  
Mark huffed a surprised and impressed little sound, and Jack giggled excitedly as he took off sprinting up the hill. Mark watched him for a moment, wondering how anyone could possibly have so much energy in times like these. He decided it was likely a question better left unanswered and slowly followed, tripping over roots and rocks in the dark. He made it up to the top a couple minutes after Jack had, only to find him standing on tiptoes, peering through the dusty windows and shining his light inside.

“Find anything?” Mark asked, struggling slightly to catch his breath. Jack shrugged, moving on to the next window.

“Not sure, it’s hard to see inside. Might have to just wing it and go in to find out.” He backed up a bit, shining his light at the door. Mark gave him a pointed look and was about to tell him that was a bad idea, but before he could even open his mouth Jack was shoving at the door. It made a loud crack as the rusted hinges were moved for the first time in god knows how long, the door itself seemingly beginning to meld to the frame. A plume of dust fell from the doorframe, shimmering in the light of Jack’s flashlight as he headed through without a second thought. Mark felt an irrational pang of anger but followed Jack inside regardless, hatchet at the ready.

Jack swept his light across the room, observing their surroundings. The place was covered in dust and dead leaves, vines creeping in through the windows and spilling onto the floor. There were no signs of life, or death thankfully. Mark carefully closed the door behind himself as Jack started peering into the other rooms and searching the cupboards. He announced all the canned foods he found, which weren’t many but were pretty good finds. He let out a hearty little laugh and pulled out a particular jar, looking up to Mark with a grin as he read off the label, “pigs feet.   


“That’s gross, what the hell.” Mark grimaced at the very thought of eating those, but Jack only smiled and shrugged.

“Thought it was kinda funny. Buzzkill…” He placed the jar back on the shelf and made his way over to the living room. 

There wasn’t much in the room besides a couch and a chest that was clearly being used as a coffee table, both poorly covered in sheets that now were riddled with holes. Jack flipped the sheet off of the couch and flopped down on it, clearly uncaring of how gross it was. Mark cringed at the plume of dust that exploded from the cushions upon impact, but said nothing, choosing instead to grab the flashlight from Jack’s hands and go search the other rooms.

“You need to learn some manners!” Jack called after him, and Mark groaned in response. “Come on, man, I saved your life. The least you could do is show a little respect.”

“Oh, and skinning that rabbit wasn’t enough for you?” Mark asked, mildly disturbed by the memory. For as long as he had been surviving through this hell, he had never had to do that before. Of course, that was mainly because he’d always pin the job on Wade while he and Bob set up camp and started a fire. He hoped they were okay.

“Thank you, oh brave and mighty Markimoo! What would I ever do without you?” Jack sang out in a falsely cheery tone. Mark turned to aim the flashlight at him, finding him laying with his head tilted back to stare at him with big blue eyes, hand over his heart. “My hero!”

“Shut up…” Mark rolled his eyes and pushed open the first door, which led to the bathroom. It was a little grimy and the mirror was covered in something black and sticky that obscured his view, but he didn’t mind. It was probably better that he couldn’t see how disgusting he looked right now. The next room was a bedroom, and it was a lot worse for wear than the rest of the place. The bed looked to be in tact at least, though the sheets were a mess and were mostly torn up. There was glass scattered across the floor from a broken lamp, and on second glance Mark noticed there were shards of a mirror mixed in there as well. The dresser was cracked nearly in half and the bedside table was missing a leg, toppled over and laying crooked. Just out of curiosity if it might work, Mark flipped the light switch. Nothing.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Jack called out from the other room. He sounded slightly panicked. Mark rushed back out, looking around in search of any threats and found none. Just Jack laying on the couch, slightly curled in on himself, face contorted with worry.

“I was just looking around… you okay?” Mark asked, tossing the flashlight back to Jack. It smacked against his elbow and landed on his stomach, causing him to jump in surprise.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Jack answered, though his tone was entirely unconvincing. Mark didn’t pry, though, too tired to even try.

“Okay. Well, I don’t know about you but I am tired and there’s a nice big bed just waiting to be laid in. So I’m gonna go do that.” Mark hesitated a moment, wondering if it was rude to just claim the bed. Eh, who cares. He turned and made his way blindly into the room, being sure to avoid the glass, and carefully lowered himself into the bed. It felt incredibly soft, better than anything he’d felt in a long time. He couldn’t help but moan at the feeling.

“Someone’s having a good time, huh?” Jack said with a soft snort. Mark blushed and looked over to the doorway to see Jack standing there, staring at him with a smirk.

“Shut up. I haven’t felt a bed this comfortable since, like…” Mark trailed off, wondering just how long it had been now. It was hard to tell, now that he had no use for a schedule. Months and years were meaningless, only hours seemed to matter anymore.

“Move over.” Jack interrupted the silence with the scraping of his socked feet across the floorboards as he approached the other side of the bed. Mark opened his mouth to warn him of the glass, but he was a little late, cut off by a stream of barely contained curses. He scrambled to get on his feet, grabbing at Jack’s shoulder and trying to ask if he was ok. Jack responded with a hissed statement of, “of course I'm not ok! there’s fucking glass in my toes!”

“Um… fuck- I’ll go look for a first aid kit or something.” Mark stuttered out, stumbling through the darkness towards the bathroom. He heard Jack groan as he started opening all the drawers and cupboards, searching blindly for anything useful.

“I have a kit in my bag.” Jack called out, “just bring me the bag, _please_.”

Mark heaved himself up from his awkward position on the floor and made his way back to the couch, groping around in the dark until his fingers caught on the strap of the bag. With a sigh of relief he returned to Jack, finding him sitting on the edge of the bed with the flashlight aimed at his injured foot. The sight of it made Mark feel slightly queazy, but he handed over the bag and nodded when Jack quietly thanked him.

“I’m gonna.. try to clean up that glass.” Mark muttered, searching the room for something, anything at all. He settled on balling up an old shirt from the abandoned closet and using it to push all the glass into a corner, covering it with the shirt just to be safe. “Good thing this floor isn’t carpeted.”

Jack snorted softly, then hissed in pain. Mark was hesitant to turn, afraid he might get sick at the sight of all that blood, but took a deep breath and moved over to kneel in front of Jack. His stomach churned slightly, but he forced himself to stay calm.

“Do you need help?” He asked, watching as Jack tried for the third time to get a grip of a stubborn shard. Jack only huffed, giving it one more go, and failed yet again. He wordlessly handed the tweezers over, face set in a frustrated frown. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

Jack didn’t say anything, only gripped the sheets on the bed tightly in his fists and screwed his eyes shut tight as Mark went to work.

 

///////////////

 

Mark couldn’t sleep. Surprisingly, Jack wasn't up whining about his foot anymore, having passed out some time before. He turned to lay on his side, one leg pulled toward his chest, and was out like a light. Mark, on the other hand, was stuck tossing and turning, trying not to make to much noise lest he wake his companion. After a while he decided he was absolutely not going to turn over again, and ended up laying on his side, facing the sleeping man beside him.

Though Jack was already proving to be someone who could easily get on Mark’s nerves, it was nice to not be alone. Not to mention that, in the moments where Jack was tolerable, he actually seemed like a pretty nice person. Perhaps even someone Mark could enjoy being with, in time.

Mark found himself staring, tracing the lines of Jack’s face. What little moonlight was able to seep into the room bounced off his peaceful face and made him seem to almost glow. There were smears of dried blood and dirt across his cheeks, his hair sticking to his forehead, lips slightly chapped. Mark was sure he didn’t look much better off. His brow furrowed slightly in thought as he slipped out of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. He hadn’t checked if the water worked, or if it was still clean enough to use. It had surely been at least a month since this all started, he wouldn’t be surprised if everything was shut off.

Mark ventured into the bathroom, feeling around for the sink. He twisted the knob, lip between his teeth, hoping for even just a drip. The pipes churned for a moment, a quiet groan coming from within the walls. Mark waited, staring. A droplet fell from the faucet, plinking against the ceramic bowl, and Mark’s heart soared at the sound. A moment later the dripping had picked up, and suddenly there was a stream of water. He boldly cupped his hand underneath, gathering the water, and unthinkingly drank it down. It tasted of metal, but Mark couldn’t care less. It had been too long since he actually drank anything, and only once the stale water was in his mouth did he realize it.

A few desperate gulps of water and a splash of the cold liquid to his face left Mark feeling only slightly less repulsive, but also much more at ease. He trudged back to the bed and carefully slipped back into place, finding that Jack had rolled over in his sleep and was on his stomach, an arm and a foot both dangling over the edge of the mattress. He looked uncomfortable, but Mark didn’t know what he could possibly do to help, so instead just settled in and tried to get some rest. It didn’t take long for sleep to pull at him now that he wasn’t being kept awake by the dizziness of dehydration.


End file.
